Page 50 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

“How?” she whispered, gazing around at the crush of guests crowding the candlelit room. “This is absolute torture for me.”

“No one will bother you with me here. Ignore them.”

“Are you always so blindly arrogant?”

“I believe so,” he said, moving instinctively closer to her. It would remain a mystery to him until his dying day how bright young women like Jane and Chloe could be so easily damaged by the opinions of virtual strangers.

He drew a breath as a passing guest inadvertently bumped them into each other. His body ignited with desire at the all-too-brief feel of the side of her breast, the arch of her elbow against him. He ached to know then and there what she looked like beneath that pale rose gown, what color her skin was in all the secret places. He wanted her in his bed so badly he had to clench his jaw to stop from pulling her into his arms.

He glanced away, perplexed that he could entertain such potent thoughts of seducing a woman he claimed to befriend. But the hidden shadows of her sexuality unsettled him a little more every time he saw her. Or was it her character that drew him to her? How peculiar he could not tell. One trait only enhanced the other, he supposed.

He glanced back at her. She looked so utterly miserable that he had to laugh. “Are you always this resistant to enjoying yourself?”

“How am I supposed to enjoy myself?”

“You dance a little. You drink a little.” He motioned to a footman to bring Jane a glass of champagne. “You talk to me. And,” he added lightly, his large body shielding hers, “since we’re here, we may as well try to make the best of it.”

She smiled up at him, and he felt another reckless urge to grasp her hand and carry her out of this place to have her to himself. Just riding in the carriage with her tonight had put him in the mood for a night of lovemaking. Of course, she was the one female in the world he couldn’t own, which might have something to do with the fact he wanted to debauch her up and down.

And now he was going to distress her further by revealing what Heath’s brief message had said. He was going to make her cry by explaining that it appeared Nigel had planned his escape in advance. Ah, well, let her have an hour of enjoyment before he broke the news and ruined the evening.

As it turned out, he rather liked making Jane laugh. He liked irritating her, too, only a little, just enough to watch those green eyes of hers ignite with so many interesting emotions. It probably wasn’t nice to do, but those demons of his couldn’t seem to resist her. His demons were drawn to Jane in a very mystifying way.

Jane searched the crowds of elegantly dressed guests for sign of her sisters until she felt Grayson gently turn her back toward him.

“Are you looking for Nigel?” he asked her.

“For—oh, no.” Her throat closed on the words.

“Don’t worry.” His mouth flattened. “I’m sure in due time he will answer to us both. I shall derive personal satisfaction from meeting my cousin again.”

Her eyes darkened at the merciless determination on his face. Pray God she wasn’t going to answer to Grayson any time soon. “I’m not so sure of that,” she murmured.

“Unless he’s dead,” he added, sounding rather wishful.

“I—I hope he isn’t dead.”

“Ah, yes.” There was a trace of disapproval in his low voice. “You love him, as incredible as I begin to find the notion.”

In a manner of speaking, she did love Nigel. In the same fond way she loved Simon or Uncle Giles, or the family dogs. “I have known Nigel forever. He put a frog in my cradle four days after I was born, or so the story goes. We were inseparable as children.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“Gone? Well, he mentioned Scotland once or twice.” As in the last barbarous place on earth he would visit. Nigel was the type to sit in an armchair in front of a fire for the rest of his life. Oh, Jane absolutely despised being so dishonest.

“Scotland?” Grayson frowned. “Strange. But I shall pass that information on to Heath.”

She felt an icy chill slide down her spine. “Why?”

“Because Heath has the tracking instincts of a wolf, my dear. He was well-suited to his work in secret intelligence.”

Wolves. Secret intelligence. The mesmerizing sensuality that glittered in Sedgecroft’s eyes. It was enough to send a lesser woman to the couch. Jane felt the web of her own deceit drawing more tightly around her at every turn, strangling her good sense, thwarting her escape.

The ball was a grand affair. The master of ceremonies handed a red rose to every lady in attendance. A band of Italian musicians gave a concert during supper, and three card rooms hosted gambling afterward. Despite the elegant atmosphere, Jane could not relax for a sin-gle moment, pretending not to notice that people were stealing curious looks at her all night.

No one had ever noticed her to this degree before. The truth was, without Sedgecroft at her side, she was not considered an interesting enough person to continue to stir rumors. Not that she didn’t have friends. She did. But the scandal surrounding her would have passed soon enough. She would have happily slipped into oblivion before the season ended.

But no one overlooked the marquess.